


break you carefully

by feistycadavers



Category: Motionless in White (Band), Tim Sköld (Musician)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bathroom Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs With Teeth, Choking, Crying, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Mild Painplay, Mildly Dubious Consent, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21859879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feistycadavers/pseuds/feistycadavers
Summary: “Fuck you,” Ricky groans, knocking his head against the tile when he drops it back in exasperation. “You’re the worst.”“I know,” Tim says, pleased with himself.or, tim is just being a demon as usual honestly
Relationships: Ricky "Horror" Olson/Tim Sköld
Comments: 15
Kudos: 37





	break you carefully

**Author's Note:**

> don't ask me why i can't finish a wip but i can shit out an entire 3k smut scene in one sitting because of a gif of tim sucking on his fingers
> 
> i HAVE been meaning to break in the tim/ricky tag i just did not think it was gonna be this shit
> 
> the dubcon tag is cuz a character is kinda cornered into it but he wants it and he's consenting and there are verbal consent checks i just put the tag just in case
> 
> it's 5am i don't have brain to write good funny author note
> 
> shout outs to giulia and luke i'm so sorry
> 
> title from wasp by miw co written by tim skold also and i would bet 95% of that production is tim cuz i know what his songs sound like tysm
> 
> ETA: i have done a dvd commentary of this fic!! [read it here](https://bringmoreknives.dreamwidth.org/119997.html)

Ricky’s been minding his own business. He doesn’t deserve this.

He’s been actively avoiding this, actually. Whatever Chris and Tim have going on is none of his business. Whatever entertainment Tim has in behaving like a cat treating Ricky like a mouse he’s toying with before he finally actually eats it is none of his business. It’s _fine_.

He’s minding his own business in the venue’s backstage bathroom, silent and empty except the running water in the sink in front of him. He’s not even actually putting any on his face or anything. Hasn’t even put his hands in it. He’s just letting it run.

Ricky had spent the entire tour playing Final Dictvm up on the riser, hiding well out of Tim’s way up next to Vinny. He doesn’t need Tim fucking with him onstage. He prefers to watch him perform from a healthy distance. Tim, for whatever reason, decided the last show of tour was the night to finally go up the steps and bother him, and Ricky had reflexively backed up, on account of he doesn’t want anything to do with whatever Tim is doing.

(Yes he thinks Tim is hot. What male-attracted person wouldn’t. What male-attracted person wouldn’t be kind of bent out of shape because their best friend is maybe probably almost certainly fucking him. Ricky is perfectly content jerking off about it on hotel nights and _minding his own business_ , thank you very much.)

Ricky shuts the water off without having ever touched it, pushes his hair back off his face, stares at himself. _Get it together, Rick,_ he thinks at his reflection. _You’ll see him at his birthday afterparty tonight and then you won’t have to deal with his demonic presence possessing your dick at inconvenient times for however long till you see him again._

Unfortunately, because Ricky has terrible luck and despite the fact that he does not deserve this, the bathroom door swings open and Tim walks in.

Ricky must tense up automatically, because Tim is terrible and he laughs, bites his thumb nail between his dreadful sharp cat teeth, and strolls right on over to Ricky.

“You good?” Tim asks, because of course he does.

“Yeah,” Ricky says, turning to try to make for the door, but Tim’s got him squared in. Cat. Mouse. Bastard.

“You look concerned,” Tim says, bringing his hand up to Ricky’s collar, and Ricky flinches, because of course he does. “Relax. It’s just me.” _That’s the problem_ , Ricky wants to say. _If it was not just you I would not be fucking flinching_ , Ricky wants to say. _Leave me alone you goddamn demon_ , Ricky wants to say.

“Yeah,” is what comes out of Ricky’s stupid mouth. Shit. Tim flattens Ricky’s collar out with both hands, and he steps in closer, so Ricky steps back, bumps into the tile wall behind him. Shit. He’s caught fucking prey.

“I make you nervous,” Tim says. It’s not a question. Ricky can just nod. Tim shifts even closer. “Still? But I’ve known you for how long? Five or six years?” Ricky nods again, and he can practically see Tim’s fangs when he bites back a grin. “Is it because you’re jealous?”

“Huh?” Ricky actually _squeaks_ , because it seems he has fully accepted his mouse role here.

“Of Chris,” Tim says. Shit. _Shit_. Ricky _wants_ to shake his head no, wants to just dip out of here, go find Chris and strangle him for having a thing with the cat that’s finally trying to eat him after batting him around for two weeks.

“Why are you like this,” Ricky says, whining, drawing his shoulders up when Tim’s hands go from his collar to his neck proper.

“You’re fun to fuck with,” Tim says. Ricky just groans irritatedly in response, because that was the obvious answer, wasn’t it. Tim laughs, his dumb fucking cat fangs. Ricky sort of wishes he’d just sink them in and get it over with. Tim’s thumb reaches up over his jaw, drags over his lip where his piercings used to be, and Ricky sucks in a tiny little gasp but it’s enough for Tim to get in, the flat of his thumb sliding over his tongue, holding his chin. “You gonna let me?” Tim asks, and Ricky’s not exactly sure what that entails, but he nods anyway, because Tim’s thumb is in his mouth. He’s _already_ letting him. The hand still on Ricky’s neck closes around it as Tim steps in impossibly closer, forcing his thigh up between Ricky’s. Ricky pushes back into it, already hard. “Fuck,” Tim whispers, his nose practically touching Ricky’s, and it’s at that precise moment that Ricky remembers that they are in an unlocked backstage bathroom and at any point someone could open the door and see him pinned here, a stupid fucking mouse about to be devoured by a terrible cat.

“The door,” Ricky says, mouth still around Tim’s thumb.

“Let ‘em watch,” Tim remarks, and before Ricky has the time to spit Tim’s thumb out and tell him what a horrible idea that is, Tim pulls it out himself and smashes his mouth on Ricky’s instead. Which. Fuck. Ricky’s still got his palms flat against the wall, doesn’t dare even think about touching, just automatically ruts dryly against Tim’s thigh when he pushes up into him, kisses back when Tim licks into his mouth. Tim’s hand tightens around his throat just a fraction, not enough to choke, just clearly telling Ricky he’s running shit here. Ricky whines into Tim’s mouth, Tim’s free hand raking through his hair. “If I’d known you were gonna be so easy, I might’ve brought lube so I could fuck you right here,” Tim says, his voice low, and Ricky can feel Tim staring at him even with his eyes shut. “Look at me.” Ricky’s eyes snap open. Tim’s staring into him, heavy lids, perpetual bedroom eyes. Beautiful bastard. “You want this? It’s okay?” Ricky nods quickly.

“Yeah,” Ricky says. “Yeah, fuck. I’d let you.” Fuck. Fuck his stupid mouth.

“You’d let me fuck you here?” Tim asks, the flat of his thigh pushing up into Ricky’s cock again. “I thought you were worried about getting caught?”

“Fuck you,” Ricky groans, knocking his head against the tile when he drops it back in exasperation. “You’re the worst.”

“I know,” Tim says, pleased with himself. “If you tell me to fuck off, I’ll go. You gotta tell me you want me to touch you.” Ricky’s fingers try to grip at the slick tile, just drag.

“God,” Ricky huffs out. “I really fucking want you to.” Tim keeps the hand around Ricky’s neck firmly in place but lets go of his hair to grab his cock through his jeans. Ricky’s mouth falls open. 

“You ever gonna let go of the wall?” Tim asks. Right. Right. Ricky finally manages to bring a hand up, grab into Tim’s shirt at the waist, the other coming up to cover Tim’s hand on his throat, and he squeezes. He can’t _ask_ for it. Just hopes Tim gets it, which, judging by the smirk that splits his face, he does. “I got you,” Tim says quietly, adjusts his grip, his thumb and forefinger digging up under Ricky’s jaw, feeling for his jugular. “Fuck, I like you.” He lets go of Ricky’s dick long enough to hook his fingers under one of his suspenders and pull it away from his body, letting it snap back.

“Ow, fuck,” Ricky hisses, squirming against Tim’s thigh. Tim squeezes in on his windpipe, just enough to restrict, and kisses Ricky’s open mouth. He pops the button on Ricky’s jeans open, unzips him, and Ricky whines into Tim’s mouth, the gasp catching in Tim’s grip on his throat when he shoves his hand into his underwear. Tim lets up enough for him to suck in a breath, then steals it again, getting his cock out, sucking in on his jaw and letting the spit drip down into his hand between them. Jesus Christ. Ricky’s brain is gonna liquefy and melt out his ears.

“You still with me?” Tim asks, his hand slicking Ricky’s cock over, and when he loosens his grip on his throat, Ricky lets out a shuddery breath.

“Yeah,” Ricky says, with just the air in his mouth.

“Good,” Tim says, which is when he lets go of Ricky’s neck entirely and drops to his knees. 

“Fuck,” Ricky says, because Tim really actually is trying to kill him, huh? Tim laughs, and Ricky has a brief moment where he wonders if he should get Tim some paper towels to kneel on so he doesn’t have to get his leggings all dirty on the bathroom floor -- the floor of the bathroom that is unlocked, fuck, but that thought doesn’t last long on account of Tim’s got his dick in his mouth. Ricky clamps his hand over his mouth to try to stifle the moan that comes out. Tim’s got his hand around him still, steadying his length as he drags his tongue up it, takes him down, and Ricky doesn’t necessarily want to look because it’s like staring straight into the sun, but he also can’t bear to break the gaze Tim has him caught in. Shit. Trapped prey indeed. Literally between his predator’s teeth.

“You’re leaking like crazy,” Tim comments, giving him a couple pulls with his fist. Ricky makes a noise. Of course he is. Tim lets go of him, and Ricky pulls his suspenders off his shoulders so Tim can pull his jeans down around his thighs, and Ricky can’t even bring himself to protest to having more of himself exposed to whoever has the misfortune of walking in on them. He’s entirely focused on Tim’s hand sneaking between his legs, fingers pressing into the spot behind his balls, grabbing onto the counter when his knees nearly come out from under him. “Careful,” Tim says, placing his hand on Ricky’s hip bone, as if to help him stay upright.

“God,” Ricky huffs, because he wouldn’t _have_ to be careful if Tim wasn’t being _the worst_ , but then Tim’s got him back in his mouth, his top teeth resting against his cock. He rakes them down his length and Ricky flinches, expecting him to bite. Braces for it. But he doesn’t, just drags them right back up till they catch on the ridge of his head and lets them scrape when he bobs off, and Ricky shouldn’t like that as much as he does.

“You into that?” Tim asks, and Ricky nods. “You can stop me if it’s a bad hurt.” Ricky nods again, but also wonders if there is really such thing as a bad hurt. Tim takes him back down, just wet heat, and Ricky tries to stifle a moan as Tim moves his head, his terrible fingers still rubbing into him. Shit. Tim stops all the way down, and Ricky can feel himself against the back of his throat, gasps when Tim’s teeth dig into him. He pulls, and Ricky squirms, a pained noise slipping out, and Tim purrs at that, the vibration seeming to rattle all the way up into his guts. Ricky actually whimpers. Tim scrapes his teeth all the way up and off Ricky’s cock. Ricky notices here’s smears of black lipstick around it.

“Jesus Christ,” Ricky grits out, because. What else is he supposed to say.

“C’mon,” Tim says, nudging at the inside of Ricky’s thigh with the side of his hand, and Ricky takes the hint. He steps his legs apart as much as he can manage with his jeans still around his knees, then watches in abject horror as Tim brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks on them, suddenly very aware of where those fingers are about to go. It must show on his face, if Tim grinning around his fingers is any indicator. They’re wet with spit in the split second Ricky sees them before they disappear between his legs again, further back this time, reaching to rub into his hole, and Ricky feels tears flooding his eyes. He’s trying to focus on Tim’s fingers but then his mouth is on him again, sucking him down at the same time he pushes a finger in, and Ricky’s pretty sure his soul leaves his body.

“Fuck,” Ricky keens, squeezing his eyes shut, tears breaking down his cheeks. Tim rakes his teeth over him again and Ricky sobs once, swearing under his breath.

“You okay?” Tim asks, which is very uncharacteristic for a cat who has finally gotten the mouse it’s been fucking with for weeks between its teeth. Ricky nods quickly.

“Yeah,” he says. “Keep going.” Tim seems to study him for a moment, as if to gauge if Ricky is actually okay, which he is in the technical sense. “I cry sometimes, okay.” Tim cracks a smile.

“Alright,” Tim says. He pauses. “You look cute like that,” he adds, before he swallows him down whole and Ricky sobs again, his fingers digging at the counter, thinking how pathetic he must look to whoever’s surely going to walk into the bathroom at any second. He can only hope it’s Chris. Tim’s pushing his second finger in alongside the first and Ricky cries out, pushes back down onto it, Tim giving him an appreciative hum. He’s curling his fingers into him, and Ricky can barely keep himself upright, sliding into the corner where the counter meets the wall. Tim’s grip on his hip keeps him against the wall, makes him shudder when he digs his nails in. It’s so much at once, and Ricky’s eyes sting as his eyeshadow runs into them.

“Fuck,” Ricky grits out. “Fuck, _fuck_.” Tim seems to find that encouraging, and he increases his pace, rolling his tongue into that spot under his head, and Ricky feels his cock jerk in his mouth. Tim pulls his hips away from the wall with the fingers hooked inside him, and he shuffles forward a little, Tim angling his wrist in a way that his fingers can sink in deeper, and Ricky moans loud enough that, even through his hand, he’s sure somebody hears outside. His words are muffled into his palm. “Tim, fuck--” 

“Good boy,” Tim murmurs, working him with his hand, spit slick, and Ricky keens just at the stupid words. “C’mon, you’re getting there, I can tell--”

“Fuck-ck,” Ricky whines, stuttering on the consonant hard, only just now realizing how close he is now that Tim’s pointed it out. How Tim knew before he did, he’s not sure he’ll ever get, but Tim’s digging his teeth into the head of his cock, and Ricky shudders out a moan. Tim sucks, laves his tongue into him, his fingers curled right into that really good spot, and Ricky swears his vision goes a little fuzzy at the edges. “Fuck,” Ricky says again, because apparently that’s the only word in the entire English language he remembers right now. Tim lowers his mouth some more, his thumb rubbing into the underside, and when Tim’s teeth rake against him it finally undoes him. Ricky sobs into his hand as he comes, spills into Tim’s mouth, his terrible predator mouth, teeth sunk in, claws inside him. He slides down the wall, jerking up into the heat of Tim’s mouth, and Tim fucking drains him, seems to suck every last drop out, practically wrings his cock to get it all.

Ricky’s crying in earnest by the time he comes back down to planet earth, with Tim standing again, his hand in Ricky’s hair, the other reaching blindly for the paper towel dispenser. Ricky starts when the gear inside it squeals when Tim pulls the lever on it, wipes his fingers. He seems to consider wiping Ricky’s tears with it, but decides against it, since they’re those horrible stiff brown paper towels. Tim just thumbs them away instead, smearing black across his cheeks.

“I meant what I said,” Tim says. “You look pretty with your makeup running.” Ricky scoffs out a laugh, half smiles, barely conscious, pulls his pants up as much as he can manage.

“And I meant it when I said you’re the worst,” Ricky remarks, still panting. Tim smiles. Cat fangs.

“You’re welcome to come celebrate my birthday with me and Chris later,” Tim says, stealing another kiss. “The after afterparty, if you will.”

“God,” Ricky mumbles. “Do you ever stop?”

“Nope,” Tim says, dropping his forehead against Ricky’s. “That’s an honest invitation, though.” Ricky sighs, cards his fingers through Tim’s hair.

“I’ll think about it,” Ricky says. Which isn’t a lie. He will be thinking about it till he shows up at Tim’s hotel room with Chris later. Tim kisses him again, then disappears out the bathroom door. After a beat, it reopens, and Tim tosses a scrap of paper onto the counter before vanishing again. There’s tape on it, and in Tim’s all capitals scrawl, it reads _OUT OF ORDER._

**Author's Note:**

> ao3userfeistycadavers.tumblr.com


End file.
